


Drifter, Soccer Kid, and the Plot Against Guardian

by deletedsystem32



Category: Hyper Light Drifter
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Drifter is a Little Shit, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gender-Neutral Soccer Kid, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Guardian plays soccer, M/M, Parts of it are kinda angsty but it's mostly a humor fic, Soccer Kid is a Little Shit, Soccer Kid's nickname is S.K., i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-23 02:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13778070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deletedsystem32/pseuds/deletedsystem32
Summary: Drifter has a coughing fit while playing soccer with Soccer Kid, so Guardian fills in for him—but he's not prepared for the trip-fest that is soccer with S.K.





	Drifter, Soccer Kid, and the Plot Against Guardian

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not too sure about the way I wrote several parts in this, but it is what it is. Enjoy!

Drifter loved playing soccer with the kid who always hung out on the soccer field.

Even though S.K. (as their nickname was) seemed to think that the game was eighty percent tripping and knocking over the other player, they were nice, and never meant any real harm. That coupled with the fact that Drifter had a small and nimble build that allowed him to get back up rather quickly resulted in a game that they both enjoyed.

Occasionally, Guardian would come along with Drifter to watch him inevitably lose to S.K., who Guardian would cheer on as Drifter would playfully chastise him in-between goals for rooting for "the wrong team".

Many afternoons were spent like this after Drifter had come back from the various Zones, done looking for modules and gearbits and such for the day—afternoons where Drifter and Guardian could forget about their troubles and just have  _fun._

This was the case for the vast majority of the time, but occasionally, their troubles would catch up with them...

* * *

 

"S.K.! Get back here, that's cheating!" Drifter said hoarsely, dashing in front of S.K. to try and cut off their escape. "You can't kick the ball back in after it goes out of bounds! And especially not into your opponent's goal!"

"If you want to enforce that rule, you'll have to catch me first, Mister Drifter!" S.K. yelled back, dodging to Drifter's left and hooking a foot around his ankle, tripping him. Drifter had the wind knocked out of him as he landed flat on his chest, arms sprawled out in front of him.

"OOF! _Why, you-!_ " Drifter growled, pushing himself back up and ignoring the familiar tickle in his chest.

"You show 'im, S.K.!" Guardian yelled as Drifter chain dashed towards the goal on his side of the field, where S.K. was just about ready to kick the ball into it. He dove in front of the goal a split second too late—the ball went in, and reappeared in the center of the field as the scoreboard updated.

"Guardian! Whose side are you on, anyway?!" Drifter said indignantly as he stood back up, his voice raspy and quiet because of the illness. But both Guardian and S.K. had grown accustomed to the low volume of Drifter's voice, and as a result, S.K. heard Drifter's question  _and_ Guardian's reply:

"The winning one," he said with a smirk.

"You tell 'im, Mister Guardian!" they yelled from their spot in the middle of the field.

Drifter started to gasp in mock hurt, only to double over coughing. He pulled the mask part of his cloak down and brought his hand to his mouth as he coughed. Guardian eyed him with concern.

"Maybe you should call it quits for today, Drifter," he said as Drifter pulled his hand away from his mouth—it came away clean.

"I'm fine," he croaked, showing Guardian his blood-free hand. "And I'll be damned if I lose by default! I'm finishing this game." Guardian sighed and threw his hands up in defeat.

"Alright, fine, suit yourself. You can just settle for losing fair and square, then." Drifter shot Guardian a good-natured glare as he fixed his mask back in place and headed back out onto the field.

S.K. watched the exchange curiously. They knew Drifter and Guardian were suffering from some sort of sickness, but they had no idea what it was or what the effects were. They gave a mental shrug and returned their focus to the game.

Drifter dashed forward at an angle and tried to kick the ball directly into S.K.'s goal, but they easily blocked it with their shin, racing forward and kicking the ball along in front of them. Drifter ran towards them and attempted to kick the ball to the side, but S.K. just tripped him again. He went down for what seemed like the thousandth time _,_ just barely catching himself and springing back up. . .just in time to see S.K. score again.

"Eight to nothing, Mister Drifter!" they shouted gleefully, expecting Drifter to let out some sort of faux-grumpy, smart remark. But as Drifter opened his mouth to do exactly that, he suddenly gasped and began to cough—it sounded different this time, though, and a bad feeling settled in the pit of S.K.'s stomach.  _Coughs shouldn't sound like that..._  they thought.

"Oh, no..." Guardian said quietly. He hopped over the fence and ran out onto the field—he knew exactly what was happening, and felt horrible that S.K. would have to see it.

By this point, Drifter was bent over and coughing violently, his mask pulled down and his hand loosely over his mouth as he struggled for air in-between coughs. He fell to his knees, and S.K. gasped as  _blood_  began to seep out from between Drifter's fingers. He pulled his hand away from his mouth and looked at the blood covering it.

"Sh-Shit..." he rasped, and collapsed face-first on the ground as he lost consciousness.

S.K. had their own hand to their mouth at this point, eyes wide in horror. Guardian finally reached Drifter, and gently scooped him up into his arms, blood still dripping from Drifter's mouth.

"Wh-" S.K. choked out, trying to comprehend what was happening. "Is- Is he okay...? Is he gonna-" they stopped, unable to finish their sentence. Guardian looked at them with pity—he clearly hadn't wanted them to ever see this.

"He'll be fine. This happens all the time," Guardian said, internally wincing at the wording, which, he realized too late, was bound to worry S.K. more. "He'll be okay."

"O-Okay," they said worriedly as Guardian began to walk away, back towards his and Drifter's home.  _This is the worst it's been since I first found him,_ Guardian thought as he began to run once he was out of S.K.'s sight. He looked down at Drifter.  _Please don't make me a liar, Drifter. Please._

* * *

 

S.K. sat on the edge of the soccer field fence, their chin resting in one hand as they stared forlornly at the ground. It had been two days, and they still hadn't seen any sign of Drifter or heard anything from Guardian. They knew that it wasn't really their place to know what was happening, but they were still  _worried._

When Guardian had first carried the unconscious Drifter into town, the residents of Central—including S.K.—had looked on distrust. After all, any sort of newcomer could be a threat—and in times like these, it was always better to be safe than sorry.

But as everyone got to know Drifter, that distrust gradually turned into acceptance—and the fact that Guardian seemed to like and trust him certainly helped that process along.

S.K. still remembered the first time Drifter had showed up on the soccer field. They had been wary at first, and even slightly scared the first time they had tripped Drifter, fearing some sort of retribution from him. But that fear was quickly alleviated when Drifter had stood up, brushed himself off, and laughed.

"Oh, it is  _on!_ " he had said in that soft, hoarse voice, and jumped right back into the game. S.K. had smiled, deciding that they liked this Drifter guy.

The first time Guardian had shown up to watch the game, he had actually only been walking through when he happened to arrive just in time to see S.K. knock Drifter over and send him rolling across the ground for several yards, eventually coming to a stop on his stomach. Drifter had lain there for a second, grumbled a muffled, "Why do I even  _try?!_ ", then pushed himself up off the ground and raised his head to glare at S.K., but caught sight of Guardian standing off to the side, watching. He froze.

S.K. glanced between them a few times as Guardian began to laugh, and it was clear Drifter was blushing, even with half of his face obscured by the mask.

"Drifter," Guardian said as he wiped tears from his eyes. "You can successfully fight off a whole pack of crystal wolves, but you can't beat S.K. at a game of soccer?" S.K. began to giggle at that, and now  _Drifter_ glanced between the two of them, disbelief at the ridicule he was receiving in his eyes. He narrowed them into a glare directed at S.K.

" _ **S.K**_ _ **.**...!_ " he growled, chain dashing straight for them. They abruptly stopped laughing and gave a squeak of surprise as they dove out of the way, which was exactly what Drifter was hoping they would do. Instead of skidding to a stop, he used his momentum to kick the ball as hard as he could into the goal on S.K.'s side of the field.

For a few moments, there had been a stunned silence, which was quickly broken by Drifter's, "WOO _HOO!_  I did it! Take  _that,_ S.K.!" as he pointed at them.

"Try that again and we'll see just how far you can roll!" they had taunted back. Guardian burst out laughing again, and that had been the only time Drifter had ever scored a goal.

S.K. was jerked out of their thoughts by the sound of approaching footsteps. They looked up to see Guardian and Drifter walking towards them.

"Mister Drifter!" they shouted, running up and tackling him in a hug. "I was so worried! How are you feeling? Are you okay? Why did that happen? Can you play today?" When S.K. finally let him go, Drifter brought his hand up to his throat and criss-crossed his finger in an X motion over it, shaking his head.

S.K. looked confused, until Guardian explained:

"His voice is completely gone. It's most likely temporary, but he can't talk at all at the moment."

"Whoops. Guess you can't answer my questions then, huh?" S.K. said sheepishly.

Drifter shook his head, but then pointed at Guardian.

"He wants me to answer for him," Guardian said. He watched Drifter's reactions as he answered each of S.K.'s questions: "He's feeling better," a nod there, "He could be worse," another nod, "Maybe he'll tell you some other day," a tentative nod, "And he most certainly  _cannot_ play today." Drifter started to nod, but then seemed to realize what Guardian said and vigorously shook his head. "You're in no shape to do anything strenuous, Drifter," Guardian said. "You are  _not_ going to play today."

"Awww," S.K. whined, and Drifter sighed—he knew Guardian was right, no matter how much he hated to admit it. But suddenly, he had an idea. Grinning mischievously under his mask, Drifter tapped on Guardian's shoulder, then pointed at S.K.

"You... You want  _me_ to play against them?" Guardian said incredulously. Drifter nodded excitedly.

"That's a  _great_  idea!" S.K. exclaimed, appearing to be even more excited than Drifter. Guardian sighed.

"You're not going to give me a choice, are you?" he asked. Drifter shook his head happily—Guardian could tell he was grinning like a maniac, even though half of his face was covered. "Alright, fine," Guardian said, resigned to his fate. "Let's do this, S.K." He began to walk out onto the field, but as S.K. turned to follow him, Drifter grabbed their sleeve, getting their attention.

"Huh? What is it?" S.K. asked, turning around. Drifter pointed at them, then at Guardian, then made an aggressive thumbs down motion. S.K. just smiled. "Did you  _really_ think I was going to go easy on him? Don't worry—he's going  _down._ "

Drifter's shoulders shook with breathy, soundless laughter, and he held his fist out for S.K. to bump, which they did. They both grinned, happy with this new alliance.

"What are you two plotting?" Guardian called. Drifter and S.K. shared a look.

"Ohhh,  _nothing,_ " S.K. said as they passed Guardian on their way to their side of the field. He looked at them skeptically as Drifter took Guardian's usual spot on the sidelines.

"Somehow, I  _highly_  doubt that's the case," he said. "Alright, are we doing this or what?"

"Ready when you are!" S.K. said. Guardian nodded. He backed up a few paces, then ran forward and kicked the ball straight towards S.K.'s goal, which they easily deflected. They kicked the ball ahead of them and started to run towards Guardian's goal at an angle from him. He moved to stop them as they approached, but S.K. feinted to the right. Guardian fell for it, and S.K. easily knocked his legs out from under him, proceeding to score a goal while Guardian landed flat on his back with a grunt.

"Yeah!" S.K. shouted in triumph. "One goal down, nine to go!"

Guardian grumbled to himself as he got back up.

The ball reappeared in the center of the field, and S.K. let Guardian have the first kick again. . .with almost the same result. This time, S.K. didn't even feint—they just flat out (quite literally) tripped Guardian and scored again. The third round, S.K.  _did_ go a little easy on Guardian, letting him give chase before scoring. Guardian let out a deep sigh, which they didn't fail to notice.

"I didn't even knock you down!" they said mockingly.

" _How kind of you,_ " Guardian replied with more than a hint of sarcasm.

Meanwhile, Drifter was having the time of his life watching the much-bigger-and-less-nimble Guardian struggle to get up quickly enough to even  _try_ to stop S.K. from kicking the ball into the goal.

It was seven to zero when Guardian turned in Drifter's direction and yelled to him.

"How can you  _stand_ this?!" he said, exasperation clear in his voice.

In response, Drifter pulled his mask down just so Guardian could see him grinning evilly as he pointed to S.K., punched his right fist into the palm of his left hand, then pointed back at Guardian while mouthing,

_You show 'im, S.K.!_

S.K. cackled and Guardian sighed deeply, running a hand down his face.

"Why do I  _even_ try." he said flatly.

* * *

 

The game eventually concluded with a final score of ten to zero, S.K.—of course—being the winner. Guardian headed back towards the sidelines where Drifter stood, clearly relieved that this ordeal was finally over. S.K. quickly joined them.

"So, what was that about me not being able to beat S.K. at a game of soccer?" Drifter asked.

"I see  _someone's_ feeling better," Guardian replied, crossing his arms.

"Hey! You can talk again, Mister Drifter!" S.K. said happily. They turned to Guardian. "Are you ready for another game?"

"You know... Drifter has his voice back. I think he's feeling well enough to play now! Right, Drifter?" he said. His tone was overly cheerful—he was  _clearly_ trying to weasel his way out of another game, something which Drifter could not allow.

"Actually, I think my cough might be coming ba-AHACH," he said, adding an obviously fake cough at the end. S.K. caught on to what Drifter was doing immediately.

"Oh, no! Looks like Mister Drifter still can't play! I guess you're up again!" they said as they turned to Guardian, who started to protest.

"What?! No! He's obviously-"

"You wouldn't risk it though,  _would you,_ Mister Guardian?" S.K. said sweetly, but somehow still conveying a warning. Guardian looked between them and Drifter in disbelief.

"I cannot believe I am being ordered around by a kid and my own partner. You're  _really_ going to do this, Drifter?  _Really?_ "

"I'm not doing anything.  _You're_ the one playing soccer," Drifter said nonchalantly. Guardian narrowed his eyes.

"C'mon, Mister Guardian! It's gonna get dark out soon, we've gotta play  _now!_ " S.K. said, grabbing Guardian's wrist and practically dragging him out onto the field.

"This isn't over, Drifter!" Guardian called as he was led away by S.K.

Drifter just smiled sweetly and waved at him.

"Have fun!"


End file.
